Belief
by April29Roses
Summary: Two moments from the heart of Hunith. Can she find the strength to give her son the only gift that matters, as she recalls the secrets and the tragedies of the past.
1. Chapter 1

Belief

A/N This short story is dedicated to my friend, Ocean Mint Leaves, because her stories are unfailingly brilliant and her kind encouragement has given me the courage to share my stories with all of you. Your adventure awaits, my friend!

And to my daughter Elena, my beautiful ballerina, whose courage, daring and dedication to her art inspire me on a daily basis.

But most especially, this story is dedicated to all of those who stand at the beginning of their adventure, finding the courage to follow a dream that not everyone can understand. And to all those who stand ready to let them go. Be brave. Be bold. Be free.

Yeah, I'm cheesy.

The Naming of Merlin

Hunith looked down into the infant face of her sleeping child by the light of a fire in the midwife's hut. He was only two days old. She marveled at every detail of his being; his already familiar face with it's wry expression, the perfection of his pale skin, the tender fragile weight of him in her arms. His fingers were long and even now he was grasping at her, his tiny fist tangled in her unbound brown tresses. She marveled at the silky feel of his fuzz of midnight dark hair, so fine and soft, it brought her an impossible joy. Her heart filled with a love that bound her deep in her being, where mortality and time did not matter.

His mouth opened, perfect as a petal of springtime, and nuzzled at her breast. He was a strong boy, she thought to herself, as he suckled with enthusiasm. As her milk let down, the surging tingle brought a relief and pleasure that she had never guessed at, no matter how sore or tired she was from his birth and his first few awkward feedings. But he had learned quickly, and the midwife, Frannie, assured her, she had seldom seen a healthier babe.

But her heart inevitably filled with longing for something that could not be, and though she tried not to let them, the tears slid own her face slowly. If only Balinor could have been there. she murmured. It would not do to think of his father, she told herself. It would not do for her son to be nourished by milk that came down as her sorrow flooded her, she thought. Surely no good would come of it. She gave a silent sudden sob though she did not mean to, her heart tearing with the thought, just as she prayed it would not. Her convulsive movement, broke her baby's concentration, and he gave a frustrated whimper as he searched for her breast again.

"Oh my sweetheart", she whispered. She tickled the side of his mouth, smiling at the rooting motion of his lips and he found her breast again. He was suckling again, his little cheeks and lips working happily as she wiped her tears roughly with one hand. She closed her eyes, humming tunelessly, trying to not let her thoughts go to the edge of her pain, to the loneliness that filled her. She calmed as she nursed, feeling the baby start to fall asleep as he drank his fill. His lips still moved at her breast, but he was asleep now. The sight of him filled her with adoration. Nursing still brought a deep cramping ache in her womb, his birth was so recent; but it could not dim her physical delight in her child, her son. She held him softly, burying her face in his hair, his skin, treasuring his warmth, his vital being. The living innocence of his newness flooded her nose; his silken skin against her own, filled her with tenderness she could never explain.

She cupped her hand by the side of his face, amused by how even her small hands framed his tiny head perfectly. She brought him up to her shoulder, patting his back softly until she heard the impossibly hearty burp the tiny bundle made.

She placed her son back on the bed, next to her chair, bracing him with rolled up blankets that she had salvaged from friends and neighbors, on her journey to the Druid camp, where her baby had been born. She stole outside to the deep blue light of the coming dawn.

Taking a deep breath, she stretched a little, feeling the tiredness of the birth, still settled in her bones. She was recovering well, regaining her strength quickly. she knew she should leave soon. Perhaps she would return to Ealdor. For now, no decisions had been made. She found a seat on a log not far from where the babe was sleeping. The stars were fading, no longer the bright denizens of the dark, but like a sprinkling of faint light, barely visible in the brightening sky. But grey clouds sat heavily upon the horizon, and no clear morning light lifted her heart with echoes of pink and gold.

It had been an incredible journey that had brought her to this place, the Druid camp. She had just been beginning to piece the suspicions of her pregnancy together when the first Camelot guards came through on a patrol of Ealdor. Mercian knights followed. Wary as ever, Balinor had moved away into the woods, but she had seen him under cover of darkness. The weeks passed bringing only more danger. The hunted look in Balinor's eyes had grown day by day, until at last she saw that he could no longer remain. The danger was close and their luck would not hold. By the time, Hunith had grown sensitive to foods and smells, he had fled. In the days that followed, Hunith could no longer tell if it was the fatigue of the pregnancy that ground her into exhaustion or the weight of her grief and fear for the father of her child.

Hunith had tried not to cry. She did not want her tears to darken the babe that she carried for her fugitive lover. She knew in her heart that this child would be all of joy. When she did weep, on those dark nights, when her lonliness would flow over her like a tide of darkness, she would feel the babe move within her, so sweetly, so gently, as if his infant sprit sensed her distress. Balinor had brought her joy, a happiness she had not expected; his absence brought her pain, but it did not dim the memory of their contentment, however brief. And he had left her with this child, a final and most precious gift; Hunith had known the child was special in the very deepest of ways, but she was not prepared for what followed.

As her belly grew, strange things began to torment Hunith. Vivid dreams of fire, images of destruction, dreams of soaring midnight flight beneath the moon, and always, always, the insidious coppery smell of blood, the scent of dragon. She did not need Balinor to tell her that her son's dragonlord heritage was making itself known, but if there was any potion that would help, any tincture or tisane, she did not know. She had tried to write to her dear friend, Gaius, the physician to the king, whom she had known back in her days in Camelot. But she had not been able to wait for a reply. She knew he would know what to do. Exhausted and unable to think clearly as she weakened, she had walked for a long, weary time, struggling to get to Camelot, collapsing in Gaius' chambers to her great embarrassment.

It was best for her not to be seen in Camelot. She had served the Queen Ygraine and Uther's temper was capricious and unpredictable, when it came to anything concerning his beloved late wife. She was too ill and Uther too unpredictable for her to remain safely in Camelot. Hidden in a small room in Gaius chamber, he had nursed her back to health. But the physician was clear. She needed even more special care than he could give. They decided to seek out a Druid healer, to attend the birth.

Gaius himself, had come with her to bring her to this group of Druids, well known for their healing skills. The midwife, a merry, bright eyed blond woman,by the name of Frannie, had taken Hunith in like a long lost sister. Comfortable at last and able to eat a little and sleep without terror, she had not truly noted how long Gaius had spent talking with the leaders of the group, speaking at last in private. She did not know what he had said. The physician was long overdue to attend the king in Camelot, so he had left shortly after, with only a brief goodbye. It was best for all. Hunith was in fear lest Gaius be found in the Druid camp. King Uther would not have forgiven him.

The birth had been relatively easy for a first child. At least that is what dear Frannie had told told her. It had seemed fairly painful and long to her. She had grown so tired in her labor that the storm that had blown up as she had suffered through the hours, had almost become a part of her surging labor pain. There had been fierce lightning the night her child was born, enormous winds, pouring rain. It propelled her forth into agony, pulling her open so the child could pass. The lightning had struck again and again, filling Frannie's hut with jagged brilliance, as the child crowned and Hunith struggled to bring her child into the light and finally was delivered. He had howled lustily at once. But the fearsome storm had softly turned to sweetly falling drizzle, and finally calmed, as her new born boy had been laid in her arms. When she kissed his forehead for the first time, his eyes had flashed gold.

Druid leaders had filed in gravely to gaze at her child. Some of them had wept. Frannie had said she had never seen a bonnier babe, and her joy in helping Hunith was genuine. But more than once she had seen the midwife cradle the baby, when she thought no one was looking, and Hunith could not reconcile the almost ecstatic, awed delight she read in the kind woman's face with her own precious child. These things puzzled Hunith, but she had many things to attend, so she buried these thoughts. There would be time later.

She still had not named the child. She could not name him something that would recall his father. But no name had seemed right.

Frannie had a son. A grave, friendly boy of twelve or thirteen summers, who was thoughtful and quick in all in he did. She liked his name. It had a certain poetry. Iseldir. But she knew it would not do for her babe. She sighed. The forest around the camp was waking up; the birds calling first, as the light came up into the sky. She heard the call of a hawk nearby.

She turned. It was only a few feet away, perched on a broken branch that stuck up awkwardly from the rest of the tree where he had landed. It was a small falcon, mostly gray, with some brown banding. She had seen them before, riding on the fist of the lady Ygraine herself, as she rode out to hunt with the king. Ygraine had called it a merlin. But as it turned to look at her, her breath caught. For it's eyes were the eyes of her lover, Balinor, and in her heart she heard the call of the wide skies and the clouds, the lift of the winds flooded her. She recalled the terrible dragon dreams of her pregnancy, but now they were transformed into flights of freedom. Freedom.

Hunith could not deny the forces of destiny that seemed to surround her child. Frannie had already hinted that the child already had another name. A name destined for him alone. That he was someone of enormous importance. She thought again of Frannie's rapturous expression as she gazed at her new born babe. The Druids that had come to look on her baby with ever increasing hope and it frightened her.

She could not bear to put the burden of something so mysterious on the her innocent child. If her son was to have magic, if he was to be a dragonlord someday, heir to a power that would be dangerous and arcane, she knew he would be forced to hide. He would be forced to run, like his father. Let him have name then that echoed with freedom. The freedom of the skies, of the lightning and the wind that had heralded his arrival.

Let him be free, she thought to herself. Let him value his freedom more than his destiny, she prayed. She hoped his father's heritage would find him when he was strong enough to bear the burden. The falcon took flight suddenly, into the morning light and her eyes followed it with a hunger that her heart could never truly understand. It disappeared into the leaden skies

Returning to the hut, she scooped her child into her arms and rocked him tenderly. Her heart was light with hope. He opened his sleepy eyes, his tiny nose wrinkling as he yawned. She filled with a love that shook her down to her most secret self. She had chosen his name rightly.

The baby's eyes flashed gold. She was only a little surprised, though she knew down deep that this portent would change everything. She swore to protect him as she could, and to let him be free of the expectations and perils of his magic, of his heritage. She could not know where this path would lead, only that she needed to raise him where he would not be used. Let destiny and prophecy trumpet their presence thought Hunith. They were nothing compared to the love that filled her. She whispered his name in his ear. Her son's eyes flashed again as he stretched and wiggled contentedly in his mother's arms. Hunith knew then, she had chosen rightly.

Merlin. Their son would be called Merlin.


	2. Casting Out Fear

Casting Away Fear

The dawn was rising and it was set to be a brilliant day. No doubt the sky would be blue as a dream, the wind soft, and Merlin's heart would be heady with excitement, buoyant and full of adventure. But his mother's heart could not share his optimism and excitement as he set out on his journey. Merlin was leaving today. She folded and refolded his shirts, smoothing their already worn fabric into smoothness.

When Merlin had told her months ago, that he wanted to go to Camelot, her heart had sunk. She had tried to not concern herself, trying to put it down as one of his wild larks with Will, but Merlin had not left the idea alone. He had gone on about it. He had a thousand logical reasons why he should engage in this madness. It did not matter how she responded, the topic was back on the table the next morning.

She had pleaded with him for the last time only last night.

Please Mum," he had said, looking at her with his best earnest five year old Merlin expression, "Not tonight. I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Come now, Merlin," she had said reasonably. "Let me have my say one last time before you go. Think, Merlin," she had added quickly, not giving her boy a chance to respond. "You can't deny that magic is everywhere. Go see the world, son. Camelot is just one city here in Albion. But if you must go, if you really want to be true to yourself and find out where your magic will take you, then it should be where you can be free. Not in Camelot where you could be killed." It sounded trite, even to her ears, she had pleaded this same case so many times.

She could see there were a multitude of answers in his eyes, and all of them led back to Camelot. But he did not say those things. He had looked away as he had tucked something into the top of his knapsack. "Gaius is expecting me," he said lightly. "You wrote him last week, remember Mum." He did not want to plead, and he did not want to insist. She could see, as only a mother could see, that all he wanted was a hug. A quick assurance of her trust in him, an encouraging word. But she could not.

Camelot was fraught with danger. It was knee deep in a bloody history that Merlin could not know or understand. All of the five kingdoms knew of the Purge that had cleansed magic from the heart of Camelot. Uther's long vendetta was well known, and even sometimes mocked, in the other kingdoms. But he was known as a pragmatic and strong king, never shirking from doing an unpleasant deed, if it meant that Camelot's crown rested easier after the mayhem. But her knowledge went deeper than that, down to the heart of the matter. For Hunith had been there, the very moment the Purge had begun.

She could not put aside her memories of Uther, of Gaius, and of the sweet, valiant woman who had become Uther's queen. She had served Ygraine for three happy years before she died and Camelot had blazed up in grief and retribution, in horrors visited on the innocent. Even now, the thought of her sweet mistress brought tears to her eyes.

The little prince had been born after an easy labor and all the kingdom rejoiced. Uther had shown off the infant to his knights when he was only hours old. He was a strong healthy boy, red faced with anger at being taken from the arms of his mother and wailing his protest. Uther had been amused, laughing at his infant rage, joking that they would no doubt butt heads once he was grown. There was drinking and feasting, much toasting and carousing. Uther had nothing but words of love and praise for his Queen who had brought all of his dreams to fruition.

But she had died that same night, of a rising fever and a headache that came from bleeding deep within her brain, said Gaius. Hunith only knew that she had awoken to find her mistress burning with fever and vomiting from a headache in the night, and had sent for Gaius immediately. In the few minutes it had taken him to come, their mistress had grown worse, clutching desperately at Hunith in her agony, tearing at her head and her hair, and finally seizing in terrifying convulsions. She had died, unable to breathe and still seizing, in Hunith's arms, while Gaius watched helplessly. Nimue had wept, and Uther had gone mad. His broken cries haunted her to this day, but so did the blood he had spilled to slake his despair. She could bear to remember no more.

The burnings had begun before her sweet queen had been grown cold in her grave. She had slipped out of Camelot before anyone but Gaius knew she had gone. Not once, even to the physician, had she spoken of the secret price of Arthur's birth. Hunith had known of the bargain between Nimue and Uther, and she had watched Ygraine's incandescent joy as she carried Uther's heir. Knowing her lady had paid the terrible price willingly, did not make her memories any easier to bear.

She looked up at Merlin once more. She knew the look in his eyes. It was the look that brooked no reason, no matter how she might cajole or plead. But she could not put her memories from her mind.

"There are dangers and secrets in Camelot," Hunith began, but she stopped herself. This was a secret that would not help him. If it was his to know someday, then perhaps let him judge on his own the events of the past, without her memories to to torment him. This knowledge would only cripple him now. She looked away.

"Gaius will help you," she finished awkwardly.

Thankfully, Merlin didn't notice. He wrapped her firmly in hug and she snuggled into his slim strong frame. Could this be the helpless babe she remembered. The thought smote her. If she thought she had loved Merlin on the day of his birth, it held not one iota of brightness to the love that filled her now. She ruffled his dark hair, just as he had when he was toddler, and his eyes sparkled in that way that delighted her heart.

"I know it's a mad idea, Mum. I know." He spoke almost contritely. He kissed the top of her head, just as she used to kiss him when he was small. The gesture brought her to tears. "The magic is there, waiting for me," he said very softly in her ear. "I can feel it calling, not with words, but with this pull deep down. It's where I need to be, Mum."

He turned her and kissed her cheek. "I swear I'll be careful..." he started. A hundred childhood adventures arose in her mind, and she looked up at him wryly. He stopped himself. "I'll be as careful as I can," he finished in a questioning tone. She smiled.

"And I know just how careful that is. That's what has me worried."

He released her from the hug and she led him over to the fire. Wordlessly, she had handed him a small wooden bowl, where she scooped a simple stew into the center.

"I'm going to miss your cooking," he said softly.

"More than you know," she said quickly, smiling at him as she recalled the foul potions Gaius used to brew back in the day she had lived in the castle. The smell alone could kill your appetite. She wondered if Margolys still worked in the kitchen. Merlin ate a second serving before she had eaten half of hers. He devoured the bread, she had made that morning.

"Still hungry,", she asked as he took a break in his determined shoveling of food. He shook his head and smiled. She could see he wanted to say something, but he couldn't find the words. She smiled at him, just to see the brilliant grin that had lit her way for years. She missed him already, even though he was right next to her. His heart was elsewhere, and it was time she accepted it.

He went out to check the animals in the barn and make sure everything was secure for the night. He had always loved doing that since he was old enough to push the barn door shut by himself. Knowing him, he was whispering goodbye to the animals, giving them explicit instructions on how they were to behave in his absence. That brought a smile to her heart. Hunith could not bring herself to imagine what her life would be like once his his daily presence would be gone.

'Probably cleaner,' she thought, as looked at the mess of items jumbled next to his knapsack, awaiting last minute use. But then she thought of his laughter, and his long stories, and his small, daily kindnesses, and the smell of his hair, and the tears rose up to choke her before she could stop them.

She sat down by the hearth, wiping her eyes and pretending that her eyes were not red, and that her arms did not ache for her child. She could fix every difficulty in those days, she recalled with a sad wistfulness. A kiss from her and the hurt was gone. A good meal could help him forget the cruel words of townspeople to a fatherless boy; a hug could erase the pain of his disappointments. In Camelot, there would be no way she could help him, there was no way that she could put right the things that might attack him. Hunith remembered all the times she had to teach Merlin to hide his gift. Now, she could not shield him if he was discovered to be what he was. She admitted to herself, that it had been a long time since she had been able to do that. Nor could she shield him from the truth of the role of magic in Camelot.

The simple carved bowl, still sat by the hearth where Merlin had left it. She picked it up, sliding her fingers over the familiar surface. Balinor had made it, she remembered. During a long winter's storm, he had carved it simply to have something to do. She still remembered the rhythmic sound of his knife as it scraped against the wood, the way his hands had moved, caressing the wood, and how his eyes had glinted in the firelight. Merlin had loved to eat from that bowl, since he was old enough to serve himself at the table. And then suddenly, she could not stop her tears.

She knew she could not tell Merlin about his father. The danger to Merlin would be overwhelming, although she knew his heritage would inevitably seek him out. She thought of the dragon that Uther had chained in the bowels of the castle, and she trembled when she thought of the creature's retribution. It terrified her to think if he should ever get loose. But even more deeply, she feared the dragon, and how it might call to her son. Balinor had said Kilgarrah was a dangerous creature, wise and possessed of a strange kindness, but full of anger at his betrayal, sunk in bitterness. For the hundredth time, she wondered if her lover and the dragon had been more alike than even Balinor could admit. She believed he was alive, somewhere. It was a familiar pain. So she wept.

She wept for her fear for Merlin. She wept for the family that she could not give Merlin; she wept for the Purge that threatened her child's wondrous gift, and she wept for the unknown destiny that had stalked him since his birth.

"Oh, Mum", he had heard him say as he came back in the house, and the compassion in his voice lightened her fear, just as he knew it would. He put his arms around her and leaned his head into the crook of her neck. "I'll miss you ." She nodded her heart too full for words.

And now it was time to go. It was morning. She walked with him to the edge of the fields,pausing under a tree to tuck an apple in his pocket as he gave her one last embrace. She wanted to say something wise, something encouraging. But she could find no words . So like all mother's, through all of time, she held him close and told him she loved him and to write her soon. And then he was gone. She watched him out of sight, waving merrily as he had turned back once more as he reached the top of the hill.

As she turned to go home, a flapping shape landed beside her, high in the tree where they had said goodbye.

"Oh, there you are", she said to the bird, somehow unsurprised to see it once more at her side. "Come to see him off I guess." The hawk only gave a piercing cry.

She knew she had decided rightly. Her silence had granted him the only freedom he would know,. She might never know what would come of her decision, but her mother's heart was sure. He would be free for at least a little while. Free to learn who he was, to make friends and flirt with love, and understand his heart's desire. She knew that Merlin would come to understand in his own time, when the weight of his destiny, and the danger of his both of his heritages became inevitable. Let him be free until then to meet his destiny, she thought. Let him be free to find his way through the ruins of the past, through the secrets that could break his heart, and doom his magic. Love and freedom were stronger than destiny, she told herself. They mattered more than prophecies and signs and portents. They were stronger even than the dark secrets of the past.

He was Merlin. Her brave, kind ,sweet boy and his gift of magic flowed through him like the force of creation through the darkness of the earth, like the movement of a flame. Through the years of her motherhood she had learned to trust Merlin's magic. Magic led him where he needed to go. Magic answered the questions he could not find the words to express; it comforted him when the way was dark. Magic held him together when doubts ate his soul. Magic had called him to Camelot. Believe, she told herself. Believe in the power of his gift. Believe.

The hawk shot into the sky, his powerful wings lifting him until it caught a thermal and it rose high into the cloudless sky. Her eyes followed the falcon with a now familiar hunger, praying in her heart for her faith in his magic to cast out her fear.

"Be free. " she whispered. "Be free, Merlin."


End file.
